"How long?"
The words leave my mouth before I can think about it.
Xiva stills.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been weaker?"
Silence.
For a second, just a fucking second, I think he might answer. But then, he moves again—faster, sharper. A clean strike, nearly taking my shoulder. I deflect at the last second, my blade catching his.
"I am not weak."
His voice is steady. Controlled.
Too controlled.
And suddenly, I want to fucking hit him.
Not because of the fight.
Not because of whatever lesson he’s trying to carve into my bones.
But I know he’s lying.
And he’s not even trying to hide it.
"You’re hiding something."
"You sound like a child."
"I’m not a child."I push forward, forcing him back."I see the way you move. I see the fucking difference."
His gaze hardens.
"Do you doubt me?"
"I doubt your honesty."
His lips curl into a sharp, knowing smirk.
"Then that is something we have in common."
I grit my teeth.
This is not how this should feel.
This is not how my father should look after a fight.
He should be unshaken. Unmoved.
But instead—he looks tired.
Like this fight cost him something.
Like the weight of the crown is finally sinking into his fucking bones.